


sense

by razzrheaa



Series: Conscience Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razzrheaa/pseuds/razzrheaa





	sense

Harry blinks and it's a beautiful thing.

Draco's very sure that Scar Head isn't trying to be alluring, nor is he trying to lure Draco into a trap (if a trap is what it is) but he cannot help but look and stare and fantasize about those lashes fluttering against his wrist, along the line of his throat...

The soft skin of his inner thigh.

Draco is hard in his trousers at the sight of Potter. Blinking. Christ on a cracker.

Harry blinks again, slowly this time, eyes scanning the page and Draco can see the way his eyeballs move, jerkily, left to right, up and down; blink blink soft blink. The boy looks up when he is called and Draco has to look away quickly, as to not get caught. The sudden dirtiness of it all gets him even more-

He bites down so hard that he almost breaks the skin of his lip. Draco slips lower into his chair and rubs at the rough fabric of his trousers, right along the thigh, rubbing in circles, rubbing his hand up and down, moving his hand close to his erection but not touching it, stopping right before he-

"...finished?" Harry's voice is very close all of a sudden and Draco is afraid that the shock might have sent him off like a pubescent teenager.

"What?" He asks and turns his head, languidly, as if he had every night to be lazy in the face of Harry Potter's sudden wrath.

"The book," Potter says, tersely. His dark hair shifts when he nods at the text lying in front of Draco on the table. "Are you finished using it? Hermione needs to look up something," he says, challenging.

"Oh, yes. Having your little Mudblood friend do your work for you like a slave, Boy Hero?" Draco sits up, pulling his robes over his lap and stares hard at Harry. He sees the color rise up on the other boy's face, two bright spots of red. Harry sighs, reaches up and presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

"Merlin, look," and he sighs again through his nose, a high whistling noise. "We're adults now and this is our last year here. Let's not fight," and suddenly Harry is quietly pleading with him, looking at him with round, green eyes. Draco stares and watches as Harry blinks once, then twice in a row, shifts his gaze away and blinks again.

"Take it, Potter," he says, snapping the book shut and shoving it at the other boy. He gathers up his things. When he stands and as leans over to get his parchment he purposefully presses his half-hard cock against the edge of the table, right in front of Harry, who tilts his head curiously. His hand comes down and places it on top of Draco's ever so lightly. Draco feels his eyes widen and he is too shocked to pull away.

"I..." Harry starts, bites his lip and closes his eyes. Draco looks at the curve of Potter's lashes, pitch black like the wing of a raven, thick and forming a half-crescent fan against his cheeks. Harry opens his eyes, looks straight at him and Draco is pinned down by a hungry look. "We should talk, Malfoy, about..." he drops his gaze, grips at Draco's hand and slides a dry finger over his knuckle. "Things," Harry finishes and looks back up at him, cheeks pink and embarrassed.

"What the fuck, Potter?" But doesn't pull away, only moves closer, right up into Harry's face, their noses almost brushing. "Are you trying to pick me up? Is this some kind of joke?  Because, really, those are some fucking bollocks you got there," he says and he's hard again, ye gods. He wants to kiss Potter, right here, right now, where everyone can bloody see.

"I see you watching me, Draco. All the time," Harry says in a warm huff. Draco can smell pumpkin and rich chocolate on his breath. Harry tilts his chin up, bumps his lips against Draco's and _oh..._

"Don't fucking presume what I do, Potter," he spits, turning away, mortified and aching, shoving his quill and unfinished report under his arm. Draco's feet feel light as he rushes out of the library. He holds his books tightly to his chest, lest they fall and scatter his papers everywhere.

He's thinking of Harry's mouth, so close and so warm and so sweet and bites down on the inside of his lip again, this time breaking the skin, and pushes away the need to run to the nearest bathroom and have one off at the wrist because of Harry Fucking Potter, like he hasn't before, like he hasn't - for months - been wanking himself raw to the thought of coming all over Potter's pretty face... all over his pretty lashes.

The taste of blood is strong in his mouth. How many times have they gotten into scuffles? Wands abandoned in lieu of bare fists against each other's throats, (Potter's brown, thick throat sticky with perspiration, with anger, with feeling), a quick punch from Potter to Draco's face that almost misses and grazes at his lip instead, splitting it. He wants to know what Harry would taste like; if he were to bite at Harry's lip, pull and tug and nibble at it: would it split as easily? Would the pain give way to panting breath and white teeth and a barely contained moan?

Draco unlocks the door to his private rooms and slams the heavy oak door shut. He pulls at the knot of his tie and flings it to the ground along with his bag and books. They flutter to the floor in disarray. Draco wants to break something, to keep his anger in check, instead of flying off the handle to seek Potter out again, to have their discussion and see where it leads. It could lead anywhere, Draco thinks, shrugging off his robe and throwing it over an armchair, promtly falling off and pooling on the floor - talk of betrayal. Anger. Insults. Everything he would say would make the hero rise up in Potter, make him shout and flush and pin Draco to a number of flat surfaces and have his way with him. Draco's cock aches at the thought that just maybe-

He unfastens his belt, fingers catching at the buckle in a hurried fumble. His erection is warm and dry in the palm of his hand and he pulls at it softly, doesn't give in to ending this feeling just yet. He hoists one of his knees up and braces it against the edge of the bed and raises a hand to clutch at one of the bed posts. He thinks of Harry's eyes, fierce green and glittering and thinks that they would fit well in his room, surrounded by silver and stone and Draco's cotton sheets. The color of Harry's neck flickers into Draco's fantasy, smooth and soft like baby skin, fever hot, smelling of pumpkin and ink, tendons standing out. He sees Harry's Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, thickly, Draco's lips tending to the movement, worshiping... Gods, he's going to come so fucking hard this time. What would Harry do? What would he be like if he'd be given half the chance? Draco knows that Harry is gentle with his friends, easy smiles and light touches. But the only Harry Draco knows fights him, pits that undying will against him in everything that they do together: Quidditch, Potions class, dueling, fighting... would fucking be the same? Would Harry push and shove and claw and fight him? Or would he be how he is with his friends, with open, knowing smiles, soft touches... a long and lasting orgasm that leaves both of them sleepy and stated.

Draco lets go of the bed post to lift his hand to his mouth, tracing his lips, touching at the exposed wound his teeth have made. It hurts and the salt from his fingers sting. He slides his index finger into his mouth, sucking on it, pressing his tongue against it, squirming the wet muscle against the invading digit. He adds his middle finger, biting down hard as he strokes his cock harder and faster. He licks at the webbing between his fingers, tasting brine and the even more primal flavour of lust. His cock is moistening at the tip and he swirls his thumb around head, pressing the rough pad against the little hole. Draco moans around his fingers, loudly, and even if this weren't his private quarters, he wouldn't have cared who had heard. Gather 'round, one and all, see Draco Malfoy, fucking his fist, fucking his mouth, thinking of Harry Potter and his goddamn green eyes and black lashes.

Draco comes, so fast and so hard that there's a pain in his skull, eyes squeezed so tight that the sees bright flashes of light that are almost stars. He collapses on the bed, stroking his softening cock, his laboured panting drying out his throat and mouth. Soon, he's going to have to move and clean up this mess, take off his school shirt and pants and throw them into the hamper, but not yet. He basks a little in this afterglow, pressing his face into the duvet and tries to get his breathing under control and thinks of Harry, who smiles like the sun and doesn't back down from anything.


End file.
